


The Seven Sins of Hallowe'en

by JantoJones



Series: UNCLE Holidays [13]
Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-31
Updated: 2019-10-31
Packaged: 2021-01-15 18:24:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 3,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21257657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JantoJones/pseuds/JantoJones
Summary: A late night encounter means trouble for Illya.





	1. Lust

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Section VII 'Seven Days of Hallowe'en' Challenge on LiveJournal.

A figure observed in silence as the slim blond man walked with determination through Central Park. Not many walked alone in the park at night, especially at one o’clock in the morning, which made it perfect for her needs. As she watched, the young man handed something over to another man, who was passing by him. The watcher dismissed the action, as it meant nothing to their purpose. All she cared about was adding another member to her society.

Illya Kuryakin, having completed the handover of classified co-ordinates to a courier, started to head home. It had been a long day, and all he wanted to do was climb into bed. The handover job wasn’t supposed to have been his, but Agent Johns had been taken ill so, as it was on his way home, he had volunteered to take over. It had meant having a working day of eighteen hours, but it was hardly the first time. Even when an exceptionally attractive woman approached all he could think of was getting some sleep.

The woman was tall and willowy, with waist-length black hair. She was also so pale that she almost made Illya appear tanned. A casual observer would estimate her age to be about twenty-five, but she was dressed like someone from twenty years previously. Smiling softly, she said hello.

“It is not safe for a young woman in the park this late,” Illya told her, after responding to her greeting. “Do you live near here? I can walk with you to your door, if you would like. Or maybe a cab?”

The woman’s smile grew wider, and Illya was struck by how pointed her canine teeth were.

“That would be wonderful,” she purred. “Does my gallant knight have a name?”

“I am Illya,” he replied, without any thought whatsoever.

“My name is Amarande.”

She slipped her hand into Illya’s and he felt a strange, not unpleasant tingle run through his body. Despite years of training, and his innate paranoia, the situation failed to ring any alarm bells for him. In fact, there was something about this woman which made Illya feel things much lower down in his anatomy. He wanted her. He desired her. He needed to get to know every intimate part of her. 

Brushing aside all thoughts of escorting her home, Illya pulled Amarande into the trees and began to hungrily kiss her. She lustfully returned the kiss, before carefully tilting his head to one side and exposing his neck. Licking her lips at the sight of the blood pumping through his veins, Amarande plunged her teeth into his flesh.

Illya’s sense of self-preservation finally kicked in and he angrily pushed the woman away from him.

“Too late,” she said sweetly, before running off.

Reaching up to his neck, Illya was horrified to realise she had drawn blood. A sudden fear filled his soul, and he too ran off; aiming to get home as quickly as possible.

When he arrived at his apartment, he immediately made for the bathroom to examine the damage Amarande had done. He couldn’t fail to see the two puncture wounds, and the drying blood.


	2. Gluttony

The following day, Illya woke with a pounding headache. He put it down to having slept fitfully, before remembering the events of the night. He thought back to what had happened and tried to convince himself that it had only been a dream. Unconsciously, his fingers went the all-too-real wounds on his neck, which caused him to sit up in alarm.

Illya forced himself out of bed and stepped into the shower. Initially, he very carefully avoided looking in the mirror. He figured that, if he ignored it for as long as possible, then he wouldn’t have to face it. Unfortunately, as he stepped back out of the shower, he caught sight of his reflection.

The face that looked back at him was pale. Illya was naturally pale anyway, but now he looked almost grey. His eyes were red-rimmed, and had dark shadows beneath them. Standing out starkly against his washed-out skin were the two small puncture wounds.

Illya tore himself away from the mirror and hurriedly dressed. He deliberately chose one of his many black turtlenecks in order to hide his neck from everyone; including himself. The word ‘vampire’ kept trying to enter his consciousness, but he held it back. Whoever the woman in the park was, it was illogical to believe she could be a vampire. Such creatures simply did not exist.

Heading to the kitchen, he searched for something for breakfast but, despite having a deep hunger within him, nothing tempted him. What Illya really craved was a juicy, extremely rare steak. Glancing at his watch he noted that it was 11:30 am. Due to the long hours the previous day, Illya wasn’t expected at the office until after 1am. Although it was still before noon, it was late enough to be classed as lunchtime.

There was a restaurant two streets away from headquarters which was well known for providing meat-heavy dishes. It was a regular haunt for many U.N.C.L.E. agents, so Illya wasn’t surprised to find Napoleon there, with the newest member of the communications team. It was a habit of Solo’s to take new female staff members to lunch; usually on Illya’s dollar.

“Hey there, Tovarisch,” the American called out in greeting, frowning as he noticed Illya’s red-rimmed eyes and sallow complexion. “Would you care to join us?”

Illya glanced at Napoleon’s lunch date, whose mouth was smiling, but whose eyes were begging him to say no.

“No, thank you, my friend,” he said, noting the relief on the woman’s face. “I am more than content to eat alone.”

“No problem,” Napoleon replied. “By the way, whatever you had planned for this afternoon, you’ll have to put it on hold. We’re going out on surveillance at 1:30.”

“Very well, I shall meet you in the motor pool.”

For the next half hour, Napoleon’s attention kept being drawn away from his date, as he watched Illya order steak after steak after steak. He knew the man could eat but, even for him, seven steaks were a bit much. What struck him as even more weird was that Illya kept demanding that each one was cooked rarer than the last. By the end, he was practically eating raw meat, but hadn’t touched any vegetables or salad.


	3. Greed

After opting to drive for a change, due to not being happy about Illya’s appearance, Napoleon parked the car down the street from the building they were surveilling. They were to monitor who came and went from private lunch club, thought to be frequented by Thrush. Despite the sky being quite overcast, Illya was wearing sunglasses. 

“Are you feeling alright?” Napoleon asked. “I imagine you’re quite queasy after all those steaks. And what’s with the sunglasses?”

“I am fine,” Illya replied, without looking at his partner. “I merely have a headache coming on.”

Napoleon couldn’t deny that Illya was plagued by headaches, and the fact he looked so unwell lent credence to his claim. However, the incident with the steaks made him certain that Illya was hiding something. Not that the man was likely to be forthcoming if he asked about it.

The pair sat in almost complete silence for about two hours. Illya was in no mood to talk, and Napoleon could sense it. They were well used to surveillance detail, and could easily sit for many hours with barely a word being spoken, but this time it felt slightly uncomfortable to Napoleon.

“Are you going to tell me what’s up?” he asked eventually.

“Look at them all,” Illya said dully, indicating the people on the sidewalk, and ignoring Napoleon’s question. “Every single one of them is zinging with life-force, and every breath they take ignites another spark of life. So much life, and energy, and vitality.”

Napoleon opened his mouth to ask what on Earth Illya was going on about, but shut it again as the other man continued.

“You hear the blood pounding through their veins.” the Russian stated. “With each beat of their hearts yet more life is pumped into their bodies. Coursing through their blood vessels. Deep, dark, rich blood.”

Napoleon’s eyebrows rose as he witnessed Illya licking his lips at the mention of blood. More alarming was the expression of pure avarice on his face. It was as though he craved the blood, and the life-force, of the people passing by.

“Illya? ILLYA!”

Solo clicked his fingers in front of Illya’s face and, after two or three seconds, he finally responded.

“Napoleon?” he asked, confused. “What is the matter?

“I’m asking you that,” Napoleon told him. “You don’t seem to be yourself.”

Illya wanted to tell his friend what had happened, but he was still not sure of it himself. Something had definitely changed within him, though he was at a loss at how to explain it. Just how could he tell anyone, let alone Napoleon, that he thought he might be turning into a vampire. He would be locked up in a padded cell before the day was out.

“I am feeling quite unwell,” he said. “As soon as we are relieved of this surveillance, I shall go home.”

“Good idea, Tovarisch,” Napoleon agreed. “I’ll bring you something for dinner when I finish.”

With a bit of luck, he thought, I can get Illya to tell me what’s really going on.


	4. Sloth

By the time Illya arrived at his apartment, his energy levels had plummeted to almost zero. Without bothering to remove his jacket or holster, he flopped down on the sofa, utterly exhausted. He remained there for another hour, doing nothing outwardly, other than breathing. Inside, however, his mind was in turmoil over what was happening to him, and his stomach felt like a deep, empty pit. The steaks at lunchtime had sated him a little, but it hadn’t been anywhere near enough. He knew he had to take what he needed from something living. He needed freshly drawn blood.

As soon as the thought came to him, Illya felt a strange sensation in his mouth. He was certain he could feel his canine teeth growing and, running his tongue over them, he discovered they were longer and pointier than they had been. Unable, and unwilling, to summon the energy to go to the bathroom, Illya unsheathed the knife strapped to his ankle and used it as a makeshift mirror. His fears were confirmed when he saw his now-pointed teeth. Napoleon’s coded knock on the door dragged his thoughts from the reflection.

“It is open,” he called out.

On the other side of the door, Napoleon frowned. Illya was usually so careful about security as to be almost paranoid. The fact he hadn’t locked added to the worry Napoleon was already carrying. His apprehension rose when he entered and found his partner holding a knife. The Russian was also even paler than he had been earlier that day, which was saying something. Yes, strangely, although he looked drained and sick, his eyes appeared bluer and brighter.

“I’ve brought Chinese food,” he stated, sighing slightly in relief as Illya put the knife on the coffee table. “Do you want a plate, or are you happy just to eat from the cartons?”

“I am sorry, Napoleon, but I do not feel like having any of it.”

“What would you like?” Solo asked, reaching out for the telephone. “I can easily order something else.”

“I am not hungry for food.”

The simple statement caused numerous alarm bells to ring out in Napoleon’s head. For Illya not to be hungry was unusual enough to cause comment, but it was the words he had used which were the bigger cause for concern.

“What do you mean?”

“I require . . . something else,” Illya replied, staring disconcertingly at his partner.

Napoleon realised, with horror, that Illya wasn’t looking at his face. He was actually fixated on this throat.

There was another knock at the door, and Napoleon found himself grateful for the distraction. That feeling didn’t last long as, with his hand ready to draw his gun if necessary, he opened the door to reveal a woman on the other side.

“Amarande,” breathed Illya, his lethargy suddenly dissipating.


	5. Wrath

Napoleon didn’t like the imperious way the black-haired woman was staring at Illya and, when he turned to his friend, he saw he was now on his feet and his eyes were cast down subserviently. Solo had no idea what was happening to the Russian, but he was beginning to think he was under the influence of another insidious chemical; possibly Thrush, but there were plenty of other bad guys out there. He didn’t know how or why Illya had been compromised, but he wasn’t about to let it continue.

“Would you care to introduce me to your charming friend, Illya?” he asked, conversationally; not wanting to let on just how unnerved he was with the situation.

Amarande turned her attention to the interloper; anger flashing in her eyes.

“Silence insect!” she hissed.

She placed a hand in Napoleon’s chest and pushed him backwards. She was there for a purpose, and this man was insignificant. Napoleon noted that was a force behind the push which he would have still been surprised at had she been a seven foot weightlifter. While he tried to regain his balance to stop himself from falling, Amarande stalked across the room to her newest victim. 

“Hello young one,” she murmured, stroking Illya’s cheek gently. “Are you ready to become your true self?”

Illya nodded passively, before raising his eyes to meet hers. Across the room, Napoleon stood in stunned silence as he watched. Illya seemed to be fairly far gone.

“There’s just one more thing for you to do, young one,” Amarande continued. Drink from me and eternity will be yours.”

“No!” Napoleon yelled, as he drew his weapon. “I don’ know what you’ve done, or who you work for, but this ends now!”

The woman turned to face him and smiled serenely.

“You will not harm me.”

“Don’t be so sure,” he snarled.

However, before Napoleon could even think of pulling the trigger, Illya stepped in front of Amarande. He held his arms out in a protective gesture.

“Please leave, Napoleon,” he said. “This does not concern you.”

“Like hell it doesn’t!”

Stepping over to them, Solo shoved Illya aside and once again raised his weapon. With an almost unearthly scream of wrath, the Russian launched himself at the American. Solo fought with every ounce of strength he had but, against the rage and anger of Kuryakin, he was defenceless. Like Amarande, his strength seemed to have been enhanced somehow. Illya quickly gained the upper hand and threw Napoleon across the room, where he cracked his head against the bookcase. He landed, dazed, on the floor, and a trickle of blood ran down his face from a wound on his forehead.


	6. Envy

The sight of the blood immediately caught the attention of both Illya and Amarande. They stared in fascination as it slowly ran down Napoleon’s cheek. They each licked their lips and started to move towards the dazed agent who, noting the looks of hunger on their faces, scrambled to his feet. He desperately scanned the floor in search of the gun he had lost during the fight with Illya.

“Stay back,” he instructed.

Neither of them halted their progress until Amarande held up a hand and ordered Illya to wait. The Russian stopped immediately. Inside his head he began to wonder how this woman had such power over him. He wanted to get at his partner’s blood, but he found he was unable to defy the woman’s commands. He was in thrall to her, but he didn’t know why. Amarande knew why. She had created him, so she would always have control of him; no matter how strong he became.

As she drew closer to Napoleon, he began to edge along the walls, determined to keep her at bay until he could find some way to stop her. 

“Illya,” he called out. “How about a little help here?”

“He cannot help you,” Amarande told him. “He won’t want to help you. He’s mine. You will soon join him.”

Despite the fear he was feeling, Napoleon could feel a stirring in his loins. There was something about this woman which was irresistible. He couldn’t deny she was beautiful but, after what she had apparently reduced Illya to, how could he possibly be feeling anything other than revulsion? She smiled sweetly at him and Napoleon couldn’t help but to smile back. He had to have her. He stopped fighting the attraction and allowed her touch his face.

Across the room, Illya watched as Amarande began her seduction of Napoleon. It wasn’t the first time his friend had taken a woman’s attention away from him but, somehow, it was much worse this time. Illya had always been envious of Napoleon’s way with women. Admittedly, he was hardly bereft of female company himself. He often won out over the American, but he sometimes wished he could he as free and easy around them in the same way.

As Napoleon mirrored Amarande, by stroking her cheek, jealousy burned in Illya’s soul. He was envious that the attention he should have been getting was, instead, being given to a man he thought was his friend.

The word ‘friend’ echoed loudly around his head. That word meant something. It was important. Something clicked in his subconscious and Illya experienced a clarity he hadn’t felt since before his first encounter with Amarande. A voice, deep in his subconscious, asked why he had attacked his friend in protection of a woman he didn’t know. It asked why needed blood, and what had happened to turn him into a vampire?

Looking at Amarande with this renewed clarity, he saw her in a different light. Gone was the sensual woman who had promised him eternity. In her place was a woman who had attacked him and was in the process of doing the same to Napoleon.

Illya crossed the space in three steps and tore the Amarande away from his friend. She did not react well to this and flew at him.

“You will regret this!” she screamed.


	7. Pride

The battle between Amarande and Illya was over as quickly as it began. Despite having broken through her power slightly, her strength was still superior, both physically and mentally. Illya’s will drained away and Amarande let him drop to the floor. He landed heaving on the wooden coffee table, which broke under him.

“On your knees,” she instructed, disdainfully.

Illya obeyed immediately and, crawling over the splintered wood, he got into position at her side. He hung his head submissively. Amarande stroked his hair as though he were a dog, and smiled at Napoleon. The pride in her victory was clear for all to see.

“You see,” she said. “I own him.”

“Illya,” Napoleon pleaded. 

He had taken note of how his partner had almost broken through whatever was holding his mind, and he hoped he could get through to him again. At first there was no reaction but, after call out to him again, Napoleon saw something which made his heart soar. Illya looked up at him and gave a very slight wink. He didn’t know what it was, but Solo knew that his partner was planning something.

“You won’t win,” Napoleon told Amarande. “We’ve defeated more powerful people than you.”

“And what exactly do you propose to do?” she sneered.

Giving her no warning whatsoever, Illya grabbed a piece of splintered table from the floor, and swung it up to pierce her chest.

With a look of shock and disbelief, Amarande staggered back and clutched at the object piercing her heart. She couldn’t understand what had happened. The blond runt had totally been in her control. There should have been nothing which could have freed him from his mental prison. A scream began to form in her throat, but it never came to fruition. She slowly began to drop to the floor, her whole body turning black, as though burning, before turning to ash and disappearing.

As soon as she was gone, Illya felt the force which had been controlling him vanish from his mind. He smiled in relief, then passed out.

*****

He awoke in the familiar surroundings of medical.

“Did all that really happen?” he asked Napoleon, who was sitting at his bedside.

“Something happened, but don’t ask me to explain it,” Solo replied. “Can you not tell me what it was?”

“I am reluctant to admit what I believe it to be,” Illya answered. “I refuse to accept that the woman was a vampire, and that she was making me into the same.”

He explained what had happened in the park, and everything that had occurred since.

“We need to come up with something to put in a report,” Napoleon told him.

“Do we need to tell anyone at all?”

“If I hadn’t brought you here after you passed out, we could have kept things between us. Unfortunately, attendance here has to be explained.

The two agents discussed the problem for almost an hour. In the end they decided to keep the part about Illya being attacked in the park, but would out it down to Thrush. No mention would be made of the events of the previous few hours, and Napoleon would state he had found Illya unconscious. The doctors would do tests in search of some insidious drug, and when nothing it was found it would be chalked up as one more mystery.

The following day, as he was preparing to leave medical, Illya examined his reflection in the bathroom mirror. He couldn’t be entirely certain, but his canine teeth still looked longer and sharper than they had been.

“Are you ready?” called Napoleon from the other room. “Where do you want to go for lunch?”

“The new vegetarian place around the corner.”


End file.
